


A Hopelessly Talentless Talent Show

by myaami



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Canon Divergence, Confessions, Flirting, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Mildly Suggestive Sexual Thoughts, Poetry, Spoilers for chapter 1, Takes Place During Chapter 1, Talent Show Shenanigans, The Classic Battle Between Hope and Despair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-01-26 16:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21376912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myaami/pseuds/myaami
Summary: Sometimes deviations from routine are a welcome distraction. But if the deviation is a disruptive murder bear reading out Hajime’s poetry, Hajime would rather hit snooze on his non-existent alarm clock and go back to sleep.Unfortunately, he can’t. He’s got this Talentless Talent Show coming up, for which he enlists Nagito’s help to select his act. That swirl of darkness he sees in the corner of Nagito’s eyes—well, Hajime’ll just wait to ask him about it until after the party.
Relationships: Hinata Hajime & Komaeda Nagito, Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito
Comments: 13
Kudos: 138





	1. Part 1

Amidst the chaos and madness of the past week since Hajime woke up in this topical hell, some of the more mundane bits of life have slipped their way into his normalized-abnormal routine. If anything, it serves as a coping mechanism to help hold together their broken group of Ultimates.

The term ‘Ultimate’, by the way, is starting to rub Hajime the wrong way. So what if he doesn’t remember his talent. Calling it an _ultimate _talent is a little silly; it’s just a way of recognizing someone’s natural ability, right? Like how Chiaki excels at gaming and how Peko is an incredible swordswoman. Some of the others are a bit of a stretch, though. What does it mean to be the Ultimate Princess in practice? The title does correspond with a leadership role, so supposedly Sonia’s talent is that she thrives in that environment. The ‘Ultimate Motivational Speaker’ lacks that same charm.

Hajime’s not complaining, not _really_. After all, Nagito said he looks forward to the day when his talent reveals itself, and Hajime looks forward to the smile he’ll bring to Nagito’s face when he can finally show off. If he had to guess… there _is _something he’s always had a knack for.

Anyway, Hajime’s non-chaotic daily routine starts like this:

Wake up before the Monokuma announcement—fortunately his body is attuned to the sun, because despite the comforts of home afforded to them here, Monokuma deprived them of a basic alarm clock, the monster. Throw back the curtains of the quaint yet oppressive little cottage. Open the windows to let in some fresh air, and damn Monokuma for everything, but especially for the cottage assignments. Wave through the window to Byakuya, who is usually already awake, and send him a smaller damnation for declining Hajime’s proposal to swap cottages for a better view. Finally, curl up on the bed with the small notebook swiped from the supermarket and a pen borrowed from the lobby.

Just after waking up is the best time for it, when hazy dream-thoughts linger and words are fluid even if their meaning is yet to be deciphered. This time, his dreams were memories of lying on the beach and realizing he was in deep. He puts his pen to the paper to capture it:

_Awakened by a voice so calm, concern mixed with my name,_

_Unknownst the storm, it starts to build; engulf my heart in flame._

A storm indeed. Hajime’s never sure if the next time he opens his mouth around Nagito, it’ll be to calmly take a deep breath in, or to word vomit out and hopelessly confess.

The sound of rippling laughter echoing through his room surprises him. So does the offhand comment that this is the single most corny thing ever written.

Hajime screams and scrambles to close the notebook but Monokuma’s tiny paws are faster; the book is torn away, and Hajime tumbles out of bed mid-lunge desperately pretending he wasn’t caught writing a love poem on a deserted island in the middle of a killing game.

Of course it doesn’t work.

Monokuma hops around the room repeating Hajime’s words in a sickeningly sing-song voice, while Hajime buries his face in his hands and imagines retaliation. Punch him. Throw the sheets over him. Tie him up and dump him in the ocean. Too bad violence is prohibited. Dumping him would probably be considered littering, the piece of crap.

“Oh Hajime, so soft, so sweet, I’m about to vomit!” Monokuma coos. “Who is it about, I wonder?”

“It’s you, obviously,” Hajime spits.

Monokuma blows a kiss and chucks the book at Hajime’s head. “Thanks, but I’ve got better things to do than make bedroom eyes with side courses.”

“God, would you get out of here?!”

“You should know by now, Hajime, there is no god, only me!” Hajime’s patience is tested like never before. Perhaps Monokuma can sense this, because then he says, “Okay, okay, I’ll go. No need to make that face, you’re already _bleh _enough as it is. But boy, does this cute little bond of yours get my hard-boiled blood pumping. See ya later, lover boy!”

Sometimes, deviations from routine are a welcome distraction. But if the deviation is a disruptive murder bear, Hajime would rather hit snooze on his non-existent alarm clock and go back to sleep, pretending it was all just a bad dream. Unfortunately, he can’t. He’s got a breakfast to attend, and Byakuya promised hell to anyone who arrives late. Hajime needs to hold it together for the sake of everyone. He needs to be a team player. He needs to—

Fuck it. Hajime shuts the curtains and finishes his earlier thoughts of him and Nagito and the beach, then takes a long shower.

* * *

There’s a phrase for when a song gets stuck in your head, like the most popular one on the radio or that annoying commercial jingle. Yep, that’s the one. The phenomenon is called Involuntary Musical Imagery. It’s when the song embeds itself in the brain as a perpetual music track, more colloquially known as an earworm. The same is true of Hajime’s poetry; the ups and downs of the words run together in a beautiful blend of harmony and stick around for hours even after he writes them down.

There’s a theory that you can counter Involuntary Musical Imagery by thinking of a different song or a set of notes too short to get stuck. Not for Hajime. He’s gotten more than his share of odd looks or raised eyebrows when he accidentally spouts poetry in the middle of an otherwise normal conversation. Fortunately, not to Nagito.

Hajime tries to put aside the words written in his notebook and focus on his present predicament. That is, trying not to roll his eyes as Byakuya Togami shouts in his face the second he stepped foot inside the restaurant. It goes something like this: “I’ve told everyone to gather for breakfast daily ten minutes past the morning announcement. The only reason I didn’t come banging on your door is because I saw you earlier, now what the hell have you been doing?”

“Monokuma is a piece of crap.” He leaves out the other details from his morning.

‘I don’t want to believe you, but I too know Monokuma to be garbage,’ says Byakuya’s face.

Instead, Byakuya says, “Fine, but I’ve already made my announcement. Go ask someone else, I have work to do.” He's out the door before he's finished speaking.

_So this is the legendary and inspirational leadership of the Togami family_, thinks Hajime. Nah, that’s probably too harsh. Even knowing the challenges and potential dangers of leading their little ragtag gang of stranded passengers, Byakuya still proposed the leadership and volunteered. Hajime gives credit where credit is due, albeit reluctantly.

After his scolding, Hajime piles more food than is necessary from the never-ending magical kitchen onto a plate—at least he knows where the plates come from; he does his own dishes thank you very much—and then sets it next to Chiaki and some of the other girls.

Hajime asks about the announcement.

“Oh, Hajime. You missed the announcement.” Chiaki says.

“So I’ve heard. What was it all about?”

“Right.” She chews her food a bit. “Byakuya said we’re going to have a party tonight.”

“A party.” Byakuya… and a party? The same Byakuya who can’t take a joke and whose face would scare a small animal if he tried to smile at it?

“Interjecting!” shouts Ibuki as she leans across Chiaki. She vigorously points her spoon at Hajime to make a point. “It’s not just _any _kind of party, ya know. It’s going to be a talent show!”

“And not just _any _talent show,” says Chiaki, clinking Ibuki’s spoon with her own. “It’s a _talentless _talent show.”

“Yeshahh! That means Ibuki can’t sing or play music, but we’re planning something that’ll drop everyone’s jaw, ohhh, in more ways than one, maybe! Hajime, have you ever heard of the can-can?”

“No, I can’t say I have… but we already have talents,” Hajime scowls, “why not use them? Why bother doing something if you know you won’t be any good at it?”

Another utensil battle starts up between Mahiru and Hiyoko, and Mikan adds her own sound effects as she avoids the, perhaps deliberate, flying food.

“Actually, the talent show was Monomi’s idea,” Chiaki explains over their noise. “We wanted to have a theme, and her suggestion was the best. Nagito was the one who said a regular talent show wouldn’t be fair for everyone.”

_Awesome. Now Nagito feels bad for me because I don’t remember my talent._

“I think it was to make it more fun for everyone,” Chiaki adds, apparently specializing in mindreading. “Like, it would be hard to be the Ultimate Yakuza up on stage, ya know? What would Fuyuhiko do exactly, shout orders at us?”

_Well okay, that’s actually valid point._

“Yeah, yeah! Plus watching Nagito flip a coin one hundred times would be way too boring. I’d bite my hair before he got to ten!”

“I bet that nasty Mikan would probably disect a frog thinking it would make us happy,” says Hiyoko, flatly.

“I-I would never do s-such a thing!”

Hajime stares blankly at his breakfast.

Ibuki urges the girls to continue their food fight later, in favor of practicing for their joint routine. Chiaki offers an apologetic smile before leaving with the others, and leaving Hajime to consider his food in peace.

_No_, he decides. _No_. Hajime pushes his plate away.

According to the conversation floating around the room, the talent show is scheduled to begin after the nighttime announcement. The criteria is simple: you can perform solo or with a group, but you can’t use your own talent. Every performance will be given five minutes, a few extra for the larger groups, and there will be an intermission between the two acts. Monomi, in her perpetual quest to bring love and joy to this island, will emcee the event, and Teruteru volunteered to cook. Monokuma wanted to help too, but apparently everyone shouted at him until he wandered off with a bleary expression.

Another tidbit Hajime overheard is that Nagito was selected to clean out and decorate the venue, the old building next to the restaurant, all by himself. Hajime should offer his assistance to make up for when he doubted Nagito’s character earlier. It’s clear from their interactions that Nagito wants to know Hajime’s talent as much as Hajime. Nagito wouldn’t taunt him about such an important part of his identity. Suggesting the talentless spin on the festivities was a way to help Hajime out without directly calling him out.

_A kindness done, from you to me; it’s fair, it’s free, it’s you._

_And done without a hidden aim, your care for me, it’s true._

Life lesson one: creativity is a wild beast that cannot be tamed.

Life lesson two—or more like, life _corollary_, a follow on to the actual lesson: don’t expose your weakness in front of predators. Not to say that poetry is a weakness; it’s the meaning of the words within his pages that could lead to his undoing. The fact that Monokuma saw is bad enough, but Monokuma would only expose Hajime’s confession if he was confident it could be used as a killing motive. Monomi might be thrilled if it got out, though; it would certainly fall under the Heart Throbbing School Trip purview.

The takeaway: don’t write poetry at breakfast in the middle of a room full of your classmates and the very object of your affection. Speaking of…

Nagito is staring at him from across the room. Oh, wait. Hajime was staring first. Oops. Play it cool. Toss him a wave or throw him a wink as if you thought of something funny that he doesn’t know but would love to find out. Then leave. Just get up and walk right out of the room before you have to explain yourself—

“Good morning Hajime!”

Hajime plops his plate down next to Nagito. “Morning.” Plan failed.

“Have you eaten enough for breakfast? I was worried, with the way you were staring at me, that you were planning to devour me!”

_Don’t tempt me… _

Hajime clears his throat. “Actually, I lost my appetite. Hiyoko, and Mikan, and something about frogs…”

Nagito holds up a hand. “Say no more. Please allow me the benefit of a good meal. I have a long day ahead of me.”

“Right, I heard about your cleaning assignment.” Hajime pretends to be skeptical. “Are you sure you’re remembering your talent correctly? Because I only see an unlucky soul sitting in front of me.”

“Hah! I don't mean to disappoint, but my luck actually worked in my favor. Cleaning is one of the only things I’m good for, as it turns out.” He takes a delicate sip of water. “I don’t mind, really. It’s good for sorting through things, you know?”

Hajime doesn’t. He waits for Nagito to elaborate, but he just fixes a smile in place and shrugs. The meal goes on in comfortable silence, with Hajime tapping his fingers to the beat of his poem on the table as he watches Nagito eat. “Plans for the talent show?”

“A secret,” Nagito says, with a smile.

“Well, whatever you choose, it’ll definitely be amazing, coming from you.” The spoon slips from Nagito’s fingers and food splatters all over his plate. “Let’s see… maybe you can be the ultimate poker player?”

“The point is _not _to use our talents, Hajime,” Nagito stresses once he recovers. “It’d be just as good if I stood up there and jumped rope.”

“You’d be gambling on your coordination skills, for that one.”

“So I’m an utter failure after all!” It sounds like he’s enjoying himself, though. “And for your performance? You actually have an unfair advantage, Hajime. Since your ultimate talent alludes you, you might inadvertently pick the thing you’re destined to do.”

Hajime nudges the food on his plate into little frowning faces. “That’s doubtful. I’m not as lucky as you.”

“Who knows, maybe my luck is transferable!” Nagito grins, then adds, “With all the time you’ve been spending around me, maybe my luck will rub you off!”

_There has got to be a better way to phrase that. _

“So, what, you’re like my lucky rabbit’s foot?”

“Exactly! Slip me into your shirt pocket and I’ll do wonders for you all day long.”

No. Just no. Sure, Nagito has always been free and a bit wild with his words, but… there is simply no way he doesn’t understand these implications.

“What’s wrong, Hajime? Is your shirt too tight? Would you rather keep me in your pants?”

_Well then._

As it turns out, there’s a lot more to Nagito than meets the eye. This suggestive side of Nagito… Hajime kind of likes it. A lot. He only wishes he’d noticed it sooner, because then he could better prepare himself for the heat rising in his face and the tightness in his throat.

Nagito delicately places a hand over his mouth, hiding it as he either returns to chewing or tries not to laugh—Hajime knows which one it is, but appreciates the effort all the same.

Hajime mulls it over for a bit, what he could do to spend more time with Nagito and figure out if he really knows what he’s saying. “Hey Nagito, would you… want to help with my performance?”

“Huh?”

“L-Like you said, I might be really good at the act I select, so you can be an impartial judge and select the best worst performance. Just don’t abuse that power and make me do something embarrassing.” _God knows I do enough of that on my own already._

Nagito’s eyes light up. “What a beautiful idea! Oh, and don’t worry, I would _never _embarrass you.” Hajime snorts. “I’m really proud of everyone, you know. Coming together like this in a time of confusion to weave a strong bond between ultimates.”

“It’s just a little talent show, but I’m glad you’ll help me out.”

Nagito clicks his tongue, annoyed. “It’s more than a _little show_. It’s a true test of perseverance. Abandoned on this island and with no way out, we create our own hope and when the time comes, we shape our own destiny.”

“You exaggerate, Nagito. You make it sound as if we’re staring in a TV drama where we each have a role to play, and our exciting backstories have yet to reveal themselves until that one critical moment when we’re required. In reality, _this _reality, we’re just making it up as we go along, day by day. There’s no master plan.”

“And you underestimate yourself, Hajime. Your very reluctance to acknowledge yourself is what makes you so special in the first place.”

“Agree to disagree?”

“For now,” Nagito huffs. He gathers his plate and stands, apparently done with Hajime’s stubbornness for the time being. “One day you’ll see what I see. Anyway, let me finish cleaning and decorating the old building first. Why don’t you come by two hours before the party starts?”

Hajime doesn’t think two hours is enough. “I can help. With the cleaning, that is. Maybe my talent is the Ultimate Cleaner.”

“I’m afraid that has a… slightly negative connotation.”

“The Ultimate Maid, then?”

Nagito shrugs. “That’s certainly a possibility.” He looks Hajime over with a critical eye. “You hardly look the part, though.”

“Hah, well, if you find an apron as you clean out that place, let me know. We’ll see if it suits me.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find something suitable for you, Hajime.” Nagito reaches out and runs his fingers along the edge of Hajime’s tie, pulling it towards him, then letting it drop. “I think your hope will shine the brightest by the end of this.”

_A glint that gleams within your eyes, a subtle question mark;_

_Consumed by hope, this mark reveals, despair paints your soul dark._

* * *

Hajime was able to recover enough of his appetite after Hiyoko’s frog comment to hold down a lackluster piece of burnt toast. In truth, the fault was his own; the bread would have gone on burning forever had it not been for Fuyuhiko insulting his cooking skills. Well, Fuyuhiko can take a hike; he doesn’t understand what it’s like to daydream about someone so much so that it distracts you from _Setting Timers 101_.

With time to spare before his evening practice with Nagito, Hajime returns to his cottage to rework the stanzas from the morning. Poetry is a beautiful pastime. The medium allows for self expression with turns of phrases you don’t use on a daily basis, but words you have within you nonetheless. It’s also a frustrating hobby, when the words don’t come out right because all your thoughts are pulled towards the object of your thoughts and the thought of him cleaning a dusty room.

_What kind of state is the old building in_, Hajime wonders. It’ll definitely require sweeping—hopefully Nagito isn’t allergic to dust. Does he have any other allergies? Definitely moving tables and chairs, plus assembling the make-shift stage. Decoration too. Why didn’t Nagito accept Hajime’s assistance? He supposes it’s like Nagito said, cleaning for him is like poetry for Hajime: a way to clear your mind and cope.

And another thing. Did Nagito _really _want to see Hajime in a maid’s outfit? Hajime prays to whoever stocks the supplies on this island that Nagito finds one in that old building. For Nagito, of course, to avoid getting his clothes dirty. They only have so many changes of clothes provided to them, so it’s better to be proactive. It’d have to be tied pretty tightly over his long baggy coat, or else it would just hang off and not serve its purpose. Better even to remove the coat all together, and tie it tight like a belt, resting just above the lines of his hips. Surely the building has some stray pieces of thread that would serve as a hair tie. Pulled back into a messy ponytail to keep it from dangling in his eyes, but a few messy stands would fall loose and frame that sharp face and fierce eyes…

Hajime takes a deep breath and opts for a diversion.

It’s beautiful outside, as always. Hajime wanders to the pool area and joins Sonia, Peko, and Fuyuhiko under the umbrellas. Fuyuhiko snickers at him. _Still not over breakfast, I see._

“Aren’t you guys going to practice for tonight?”

Fuyuhiko scoffs.

Peko answers more positively and politely. “I believe not practicing is in the spirit of a talentless show. We are not expected to be exceptionally skilled at what we select.”

“However, Akane and Nekomaru are taking it quite seriously,” Sonia says. Sure enough, those two are engaged in deep conversation in the area outside the hotel. “Working in a group certainly adds to the fun, and the potential for good-spirited missteps!”

“Do you have a group, Sonia?”

“Gundham and I have teamed up! I asked Kazuichi too, but he preferred a solo routine. We were on our way to practice, but the boys got distracted…” Sonia trails off and looks towards the pool, where Hajime can just make out Gundham and Kazuichi’s forms underwater in brightly colored swim trunks, supposedly competing for who can hold their breath the longest.

Fuyuhiko slings an arm over his eyes. “Who cares? It’s a waste of time, not a way out. Things will go back to normal tomorrow when everyone remembers we’re trapped in a killing game.”

“I, for one, think it will be fun,” says Peko. “We might even see an unexpected side of everyone here.”

Hajime agrees. “Every time we understand each other a little more is a lost opportunity for Monokuma…”

The rest of Hajime’s little pep talk is literally drowned out by the sudden tidal waves rising from the pool and the raging battle cry that follows. “Victory is mine! Behold, my lungs, sculpted of solid steel, that contain twice the air of a lowly human being.”

Kazuichi tries not to be a sore loser. “We all know you had the advantage cause you gotta hold your breath when you clean up after your damn rodents—” Well, Kazuichi _tried _not to be a sore loser. There’s always room for improvement.

“Cursed sound uttered upon my ears!”

“—But we’re gonna do handstands next!” He notices that Hajime has joined the poolside crew. “Hajime, you be the judge.”

“What are the criteria?”

“Straightness of the legs, pointing of the toes. We’ll do it for 30 seconds,” Kazuichi explains. “And you! Don’t even think about sicing your little rats on my feet! Hajime, you better call out any crap like that if you see it.”

“My _Four Dark Devas of Destruction _wouldn’t debase themselves by touching the unclean hooves of a mere mortal.”

“Whatever, dude.” Kazuichi slaps a hand on Gundham’s shoulder. “Ready?” Gundham nods, and they take their positions underwater.

Hajime’s felt this before. Back before Monokuma and all this killing nonsense, there was a time when everybody laughed at the absurdity of Usami’s costume and her unusual request to collect ‘hope fragments’. But then the stakes were raised, and now they gamble on life and death every minute they spend on this island. Simply put, there once was a time when they were innocent and naive and played together on the beach.

Hajime was frustrated by their whole situation at first—for god’s sake, who wouldn’t have been, waking up on a deserted island with strangers, no matter how attractive they are—but Hajime had joined Gundham in a sandcastle building contest, and laughed at Fuyuhiko trying to outswim Peko and failing. He teamed up with Mikan in a splashing battle against Sonia and Nagito, while Ibuki and Kazuichi ran along the beach. He’d watched Nagito stretch out in the sun, and Teruteru oil Nekomaru’s back. Nagito probably would have needed some sun lotion too if the sky hadn’t turn dark and Monokuma hadn’t appeared. If Hajime knew Nagito better at the time, he would have caught him in the water and dragged him back to the beach to see if Nagito’s hair was really as soft and smooth as it looked, and with no jacket to get in the way, just his bare arms and back and the curve of his hips, Hajime would draw him close and damn the others watching, Hajime would—

_My mind, it strays and pictures you, I love what you present:_

_A fragile form, that cotton hair, what would you look like spent?_

The water splashes around the edge of the pool, and from under water, Hajime can make out the voices shouting at him. Soon he feels Gundham and Kazuichi dragging him up to the surface.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

“Hajime! Are you alright?”

“You got my suit all wet, you asshole!”

He had to cool off; he had no other options. His clothes and his shame weigh him down, but at least the shock from the cold water did the trick.

* * *

Hajime takes his second shower of the day, third if you count leaping into the pool, which he personally does not. Explaining to Nagito why his clothes smell of chlorine from his sudden urge to dive into the pool—shirt, tie, shoes, and all—isn’t desirable. To the others, he had said that he wanted to get closer to judge Gundham and Kazuichi’s handstands, but then _oh no, he tripped!_ Peko didn’t buy it. The others called him a klutz.

Since he was already in the water, he participated in the next few games with the guys, and was proud to take first place in the brick retrieval—they pulled up a stone from outside the hotel lobby and were careful to replace it, lest Monokuma descended on them for vandalism—and he took second to Kazuichi in fastest laps. The afternoon passed quickly after that, and Hajime arrived at the old building just before eight in the evening. He has to admit, Nagito did an excellent job cleaning up. Granted, Hajime had never been inside before so it’s not a valid comparison, but the interior doesn’t look as dangerous or uninhabitable as Monomi made it out to be. The sauteed meat and roasting vegetables wafting through the halls certainly add to the air of a joyful celebration. _Teruteru is a godsend to this island,_ Hajime thinks.

The innermost room of the old building is decorated with streamers hanging from the ceiling and various centerpieces adorning each table. A gaudy rug is efficiently laid out across the floor to cover up the uneven floorboards, and a makeshift stage has been erected on the leftmost side of the room. _Nagito did all of this by himself? _Hajime steps fully into the room and lets the door close behind him. That’s when he notices Nagito kneeling under a table in the back.

Nagito. On his knees. In those. Tight…

‘Nagito,’ Hajime says, but the sound doesn’t actually leave his throat. He tries again with more force this time, and it comes out hoarse and high-pitched all at once. _Super_.

The unusual noise that sprung forth from Hajime’s lips surprises Nagito too. He bumps his head as he crawls backwards out from under the table, and rushes to Hajime’s side.

“Hajime, are you alright? Did you… see something that startled you?”

Hajime leans against the nearest table, putting all his weight on one arm so as to hide his wobbly legs. “No,” he answers quickly. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting to see…” he starts to sweat, “…your nice…” _fuck,_ “…decorations.” _Smooth, dumbass. Real smooth._

Nagito looks Hajime right in the eyes and smirks.

_Yeah, Nagito definitely knows what he’s doing to me._

“Though I’d hardly call myself a master designer, I do think I did rather well with the streamers. I found colored paper napkins in the storage room and looped and glued them together. Fortunately without any paper cuts!”

“What about your talent for cleaning? I’m sure that helped speed things along.”

“My what?”

“The Ultimate Maid?” _No stupid, that was you! _“I-I just meant that you have a talent for that too. For cleaning. I wouldn’t have had the motivation to do this all day long if I had been selected.”

And then Nagito’s hand is next to his on the table, their face just inches apart. “I haven’t forgotten about our earlier conversation, you know. I didn’t find any. Yet.” He winks and Hajime’s pulse skyrockets. Laughing, Nagito takes a step back so Hajime can regain his balance once more. Nagito is in a wonderfully good mood and Hajime is clumsy and frankly doesn’t care. He laughs too, and leads Nagito by the hand onto the make-shift stage.

“Our first test,” he says, “that will unveil my ultimate talentless act, is a dance. In particular, swing dance. I’ve seen it once and understand the basic steps. I tried a bit on my own; it’s definitely not my ultimate talent, but at least I wasn’t terrible.”

Wordlessly, Nagito repositions Hajime’s hand on his shoulder and places his on Hajime’s waist. He holds their joined hands out to the side.

“Have you done this before, Nagito?”

“Haha! Never!”

All of Hajime’s past whining about how ultimate talents are simply what people have a knack for, well he’ll be damned and takes it all back, because Nagito’s ultimate luck is truly a thing of wonder. He hums softly into Hajime’s ear which makes it even more difficult to keep up, and moves as if he’s been dancing his entire life.

“Slow, slow, quick quick. Slow, slow, quick quick. Follow my lead Hajime, I know what I’m doing.” Nagito chuckles. “Mostly.”

Clumsily, they move across the make-shift stage, the unevenness of their steps attributed solely to Hajime. There’s something electrifying about the way Nagito owns his confidence and looks so _damn cocky_, that Hajime can’t help but push back. He tightens his grip on Nagito’s hand and slips his other from Nagito’s shoulder to behind his neck, twirling the hair lying at the nape. Nagito shudders and then suddenly Hajime is spinning away, tethered by their clasped hands until their arms are fully extended, and Hajime wants to wipe that smirk off Nagito’s face; he spins himself back the way he came and ducks under Nagito’s arms when they rejoin hands, and presses his back against Nagito’s chest so that Nagito’s arms are wrapped around him.

After a moment, Hajime drops one of Nagito’s hands, unwraps himself, and resumes their original dance position. “Impressed, are we? I never thought I would render you speechless, Nagito.”

A shaky breath escapes his lips. “Haha. A bold move, indeed… I wasn’t expecting you to respond like that.”

“I’m full of surprises,” Hajime says. “Keep watching.”

“I intend to.”

The dance heats up. The touches on their neck and waist linger longer and lower, their fingers entwine and tighten, and their bodies move closer together. The dance itself becomes a battle of who is more bold, who can elicit the strongest reaction from the other, and right now, it’s not enough; they’re tied.

After the fourth time Hajime is pulled into a backward embrace after a spin, he keeps Nagito’s hands against his chest.

Nagito’s voice rumbles against his back. “Hajime. We can’t continue when we’re like this.”

“I’ve had enough of this dance.” He shifts within Nagito’s embrace, and his arms quickly wrap around Nagito’s neck.

“What kind of ultimate act are we performing now?”

“Who fucking cares?”

His mind has long since checked out. The only thing Hajime registers is Nagito’s breath on his face, and his half-closed eyes. Hajime leans in, but as a result of his brain malfunction, it fails to warn him that Nagito is also moving, so Hajime smacks his mouth against Nagito’s forehead, after which Nagito’s luck fails and, all gracefulness and luck abandoned, he kicks Hajime in the shin. Hajime reaches for Nagito’s coat, and they both go down in a pile.

“H-Hajime, I’m so s-sorry,” Nagito stammers through breaths. He heaves himself off of Hajime and offers his hand. “I’ll get you some ice so it doesn’t leave a bruise.”

“It won’t bruise, don’t fuss.”

“Please, allow me.”

“Let it go,” Hajime argues half heartedly, but Nagito is already out the door. Hajime sighs and rubs his leg. It’ll probably bruise.

When a few minutes pass and he’s still alone in the banquet hall, Hajime heads for the kitchen to make sure Nagito hadn’t stepped through a floorboard. Best case scenario, he’s being reprimanded by Teruteru for trying to swipe some food. Hopefully he’ll make it out of there unscathed and with extra food to share.

Well, Nagito’s in the kitchen alright, hanging halfway out the door holding a bag of ice and speaking with someone inside.

“…if you stop me now, it doesn’t matter. I’ll never give up,” Nagito says.

“Wh-what are you saying…? I don’t understand at all!” Teruteru says from within the kitchen.

Hajime quiets his steps in the hallway.

“So you don’t understand… That’s fine. I don’t really mind.”

“There’s something wrong with you!”

“Really? Do you really think so? Do you really think there’s something wrong with me? But… isn’t that what love is?”

“There’s no way I’ll let you do this. I’ll stop you…”

_What am I hearing?_

Hajime’s foot scraps against the ground and Nagito slowly turns in his direction, devoid of the seductive or playful expression from minutes before. He lets go of the kitchen door, and before it closes, calls out, “That sounds wonderful, Teruteru. I look forward to seeing what you can do.”

“Something wrong?” Hajime asks.

“It’s nothing. Teruteru is getting… anxious from the anticipation of the main event tonight.” Nagito shrugs, then shakes the bag of ice for Hajime to take. “I’ve got your ice here. Let’s head back.”

Back in the banquet hall, Nagito insists that Hajime prop his leg on another chair. “It’s not bleeding, you don’t have to lift it up,” but like before, Nagito waves away his concern.

“I was the one who did this to you, so I need to nurse you back to perfect health.”

Hajime rolls his eyes, but lets Nagito fuss over him for a few more minutes.

Once the ice has melted, Hajime declares enough is enough, and pulls Nagito back to the stage. “We’re going to try singing next. Is your voice as smooth as your dancing?”

“I’m an avid shower singer, I’ll have you know. I even wrote a song once.”

“Really?” He wonders if songwriting is anything like poetry.

“It was a while ago. But I… I can’t remember how it goes. The lyrics are on the tip of my tongue, yet no matter how much I think about it, I can’t remember the words. I can barely hum the tune anymore.”

“Maybe it’s related to our amnesia.”

“Probably. I don’t think I would have ever shared it with anyone, either. It’s personal, you know?”

Hajime knows. “Let’s sing happy birthday as an opera,” he says.

“That’s ridiculous, Hajime!”

“That’s the point, Nagito.”

If Nagito sang happy birthday to him like this on his actual birthday, Hajime would up and cry with joy. Even for this ridiculous exercise, Nagito overexaggerates and stretches the simple words, pouring his soul into it and crafting a beautiful melody. Hajime tries to match his enthusiasm by putting a hand on Nagito’s shoulder and locking eyes with him, but Nagito quickly dissolves into a coughing mess, leaving only Hajime’s horrid harmony echoing in the room.

If he’s learned anything today, he is one hundred percent sure what his talent is not. It’s impossible to be this terrible all the time. He says as much.

“You’re not terrible, Hajime, you’re unique! No one else sings or dances like you do. It’s… charming.”

_And when I play the fool I am, instead of tease, you smile_

_To build me up and lift me high; please stay like this a while?_

“Singing is out,” Hajime says. “No, Nagito, do not argue with me on this one. I will not sing in front of the entire class. I’m not impervious to embarrassment, you know.”

“Ah, but you don’t mind when you’re around me?”

“I guess not.” He blushes. “Well, I’ve actually run out of duo act ideas, so…”

“I suppose a duo wouldn’t have worked anyway,” says Nagito. “I’ve got my own act you see!”

“Oh. I… thought we were finding an act to perform together. You don’t… want to team up with me?”

Nagito waves his hands around. “No, no, it’s nothing like that! I want to make sure you have a chance to shine in the spotlight yourself, that’s all. I guess I want to show off a little bit too. And… if all goes well with my act, I’d love to give you a private lesson.”

“What does it involve?”

“It involves… well isn’t that interesting.” Nagito drops his voice. “It involves something for which we would use an apron.” He tilts his head and taps a finger against his cheek when Hajime doesn’t immediately respond. “Hajime, what are you thinking of, I wonder?”

Hajime swats Nagito’s arm. “You’re terrible.”

“Hah! I aim to please. Anyway, why not give solo dancing a try?”

“Like, a ballet?”

Nagito crosses his arms. “I think your a little too… tall for that.”

“I’m sure you meant to say that I’m suitably graceful for that.”

“Sure, sure, that’s exactly right. No, I meant more like, break dancing or free form.”

“How does it work?”

“It’s an athletic dance, so your body is perfect for it.” _W-What? _“You do flips and tricks, and move yourself with power and confidence to a fast beat.” He shrugs. “Or something like that.”

‘That’s not great advice’, Hajime doesn’t say, but considers it all the same. He brings his feet together and tries to find an imaginary beat and set it to repeat in his mind. Flips on his back and stands on his head are literally impossible; he’ll let the beat inside his chest guide his body, instead. He tosses his tie to the floor and unbuttons the top of his shirt.

One, two, three, four—

_No. _

One, and two, and three, and four and—

_Better._

And one, and two, and three, feel the beat: arms reach, then bend, turn down, and return, one pop, both cross, bring up, then lock; chest in, shoulders out, don’t stop, do again, chest in, shoulders out, pulse in, shrug out; fake right, step left, hop once, drop next, hands out, palms up, wrists snap, walk it back; feet touch, point away, switch legs, go bold, slide left, hips sway, throw a wink, shake it up.

Hajime is sure he looks like an uncoordinated fool, but he’s never moved with such freedom. Every day on this island that passes without knowing his talent, he struggles to fill the gaps and live up to the incredible standards set by his classmates. But here, like this, it’s different from his private poetry because the dance is physical and has that rhythm and hidden song just like his words.

And besides… he’s never had Nagito’s eyes fixated on his entire body quite like this before.

He drains the glass of water Nagito offers when he’s exhausted himself with the dance, and drapes his tie around his neck. The shirt, he leaves unbuttoned. “Well, what’d you think? Good enough to qualify as a talentless talent?”

“Your incredible, as always!” Nagito’s eyes are wide with excitement. “Your dancing made me think about this predicament we find ourselves in, this battle for survival of our very lives! We flounder around in uncertainty by ourselves, but we keep going. By watching each other, we become inspired to stand up and keep moving forward, our hope driving us, regardless of how we look and the implications thereafter.” He can’t keep his hands under control; they move around in circles, then come to rest on Hajime’s arms. “Through the blood, sweat, and tears we will inevitably shed, we keep going. That’s what your dancing does for me, Hajime. That is what I see when I look at you. Do you… think that’s a strange thing to say?”

“No, I’m um, actually happy I was able to inspire you. But… let’s set aside the talk of survival and hope for tonight, alright? We could all use a break from thinking like that. Tonight is about having fun.” Hajime takes Nagito’s hands in his own and squeezes. “Let’s do our best, okay?”

“You’re right Hajime,” he says, matter of fact. “I know I most certainly will.” Nagito stares at him, eyes dark with lust for something that Hajime isn’t sure he can give.

_Exchanging glances side by side, perfect in every way,_

_Until, that is, I see the truth; facade crumbling away._

Hajime detaches himself and ineloquently mumbles something about stepping out to use the restroom. He does, and then he quickly scribbles the new verses into his notebook, choosing to focus more on the beauty of the words, rather than the ugliness of their meaning.

When he returns to the banquet room, Byakuya is thoroughly patting down Nagito, and Teruteru is shuffling back and forth between the hall and the kitchen with the food he prepared. After Hajime’s own patdown and mediocre explanation of his notebook and pen—_it’s inspirational, it’s not a weapon, don’t you dare take that from me_—he’s dragged to the kitchen and beyond to complete inspection duties.

Byakuya eventually gives the all clear, and they return to the banquet hall where everyone has arrived, and where, for just a while, Hajime throws caution to the wind and doesn’t think about Monokuma, or the killing game, or that swirl of darkness in Nagito’s eyes, and tries to enjoy the night for what it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you’ve enjoyed it so far!!! :D <3


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading and for your lovely feedback! <3 <3 Enjoy the talent show and the conclusion! (Chapter 3 is the poem in its entirely.)

“Excuse me! Excuse me! Can I have your attention please?” To her credit, Monomi certainly knows how to make her tiny voice carry when she wants it to. “Now that everyone is here, let’s begin! We will randomly draw to determine the schedule. Please write your name and **Ultimate Act **on a piece of paper, then drop it into this box!”

Hajime scribbles down ‘Hajime Hinata, Ultimate Break Dancer.’ If he was able to move his body around the stage in what might arguably be called a dance, he should be able to do it again. Who knows, maybe even better this time.

After all the papers have been deposited, Monomi picks up the first slip, somehow, without any fingers. Maybe her hands have tiny suction cups, like an octopus.

“Let me announce the lineup for act one! First, are Sonia Nevermind and Gundham Tanaka, the **Ultimate Mimes**!” Sonia pumps her fists into the air with an emphatic ‘yes!’ and Gundham nods solemnly. “After that, we will have Akane Owari and Nekomaru Nidai, swapping talents to perform as the **Ultimate Team Manager **and **Ultimate Gymnast**_, _respectively!” Hajime covers his ears as they both roar with excitement. “Then we have Kazuichi Soda, the **Ultimate Whistler**, followed by Chiaki Nanami, the** Ultimate Statue**!”

“You’re not doing an act with the other girls, Chiaki?” Hajime asks her.

“No. I’m only good with hand-eye coordination,” she says.

“Finally, Nagito Komaeda will conclude act one as the **Ultimate Painter**!”

_Ah, the Ultimate Painter. An apron. For the paint._ Yep, Hajime gets it.

“Ah, um, can I swap with someone in act one?” Teruteru asks.

“I don’t mind switching, Teruteru!” says Nagito immediately.

“But—”

“It’s fine! I expect that you want to perform with the earlier group so you can return to the kitchen in act two to prepare the desserts. Something like that?”

“Y-Yes. The timing is important…”

“Okay then,” Monomi says, “Teruteru Hanamura will instead end act one by performing the **Ultimate Cat’s Cradle**! We’ll begin in one minute! Places everyone!”

Hajime rushes to grab one last snack before turning his attention to the stage, where Sonia and Gundham stand side by side with somber faces. In silence, Gundham places his hands in front of him on an invisible wall blocking him in, and Sonia turns her chin upwards, hands pressed against the invisible ceiling. Slowly, silently, and strangely hypnotically, they slide their hands over the surface of their prison until they reach the center and rest their hands against each other, separated by a panel of invisible glass.

Gundham’s hamsters emerge from their home in his scarf, and leap with all their might towards Sonia’s shoulder, but the invisible box blocks their path; they freeze midair narrowly avoiding a collision and deftly rebound back to Gundham’s shoulder. Hajime gasps and hears a few chuckles from around him. So what if Hajime is fascinated by magic tricks and misdirection. Who isn’t? But seriously though, how did they change direction like that? An extremely thin piece of wire?

The hamsters drop to the ground and pound their little fists against the center divide. Sonia, clearly distressed, turns around and punches her box. She steps out and around the side, then punches Gundham’s box too. The hamsters escape and run up her legs to nuzzle in her hair, and she offers a hand to Gundham as he steps out of his confines. They and the hamsters take their bows to the audience's applause.

In contrast to the silent and attentive air of Gundham and Sonia’s act, Akane and Nekomaru bring a hyperactive awareness. Akane first instructs Nekomaru to somersault across the stage—

“Tuck and roll! Tuck and roll! Keep your butt clenched like you’re holding it in, and tighten those abs! If I were to punch you, I shouldn’t see any flab move!”

—then upgrades to pirouettes—

“If I can do this after I’ve eaten an entire slab of meat, you can too!”

—and a mid-air flip—

“Imagine you’re lighter! You’re the same as a bag of manure. Easy, right?”

Nekomaru performs admirably, and literally rounds off the act with an impressive cartwheel that doesn’t take down the _entire_ stage, but he does land with a resounding _boom _and catch one of the low-hanging banners with a wildly flailing foot. Nekomaru accepted Akane’s odd motivation in good humor, and even compliments _her _on her performance too. Nekomaru fixes the decorations before bowing and leaving the stage.

Monomi fixes her gaze on Kazuichi next, but he’s frozen in place. Hajime navigates across the room and nudges his shoulder. “You’re up, man.”

“R-Right!” Kazuichi says. He gives no indication of moving.

“You nervous?”

“Hah, me? Nervous? No way, man, this is my time to shine. I may not be the greatest at planning and motivating and all that crap we do on the island these days, but do you know what I used to do everyday while working the shop?” He’s not looking for Hajime’s answer; he’s already stridding onto stage with much more confidence than a moment ago. “I goddamn whistle and I’m amazing at it.” He rips off his hat and shakes out his unruly hair.

Kazuichi was right. The whistling is beautiful. The song Kazuichi chose is slow and flowing. Full, and almost bittersweet. Hajime isn’t well versed in the classical genre, but Ibuki gasps; according to her, the piece is called Clair de Lune.

Monomi gives everyone a moment after Kazuichi’s performance ends, then calls Chiaki to the stage. Chiaki dawns her cat hood, picks a spot on the wall just above Hajime’s head, and stares. Hard. Hajime moves slightly to get out of her line of sight.

Gundham is the first to step in. He tip-toes to the stage then leaps out in front of her, but Chiaki the Ultimate Statue doesn’t flinch. Gundham takes a step back in awe. “What is this madness? Even my Devas close their eyes in the face of surprise!”

“Such endurance! Keep it up, Chiaki! Keep! It! Up! Gaaahhhhh!!”

After five minutes of Nekomaru’s ear splitting coaching, Gundham inquisition of Chiaki’s prowess to control time, Peko’s impromptu hair braiding, Ibuki’s eye-rolling joke telling, and everyone’s laughing but Chiaki, Monomi calls time on the performance. Chiaki takes one, long, exaggerated blink before finally laughing herself, and thanking everyone for the fun challenge.

Next to the stage is Teruteru, who brings with him a multi-colored pieces of yarn he’s tied into a loop. Hajime remembers playing with string when he was younger. He’d hook it over and around his fingers, dropping some loops here and there, but he never thought to use his wrists and arms as a part of the performance. Teruteru’s body becomes an extension of the yarn, like part of an interpretive dance, moving and pulling and looping and dropping his arms and fingers to transform such a simple and straightforward medium into a wonder.

Teruteru goes for the final loop in the dead silence of the room but the string has had enough. It snaps, the whole construct held between Teruteru’s hands going limp and sliding to the floor as Teruteru stares at the empty space in disbelief. Eventually he drops his hands, and takes a deep bow. The audience claps, more stunned by the sudden change of atmosphere than anything else, and Monomi announces the start of the intermission.

Hajime catches up with Teruteru before he disappears back into the kitchen. “Hey, Teruteru, that was amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Oh. Thanks, Hajime. I’m good with my hands. Very dexterous, or… something or other.”

“Everything alright? This is just for fun, you know, and it was really impressive.”

“Sure, everything’s fine. It’s not like that was a metaphor for anything coming to an end and breaking, right?” Teruteru returns to the kitchen without another word.

While Hajime’s still sorting out Teruteru mood, Akane slaps him on the back. “Is Teruteru goin’ to make some more food?” Hajime stumbles forward a few steps and nods. “Damn, I wanted to ask specifically for more of that beef. Do you think he’ll take a special request?”

“He’s probably already got the meals planned for tonight, but I bet he’d appreciate you letting him know tomorrow.”

“Hell yeah! You can tell a lot about people by the food they make. It goes both ways, actually.” She squints at Hajime, as if appraising his food worth. “Hmm. You’re the kind of plain guy who eats the same thing every day, aren’t you.”

“What’s wrong with that? As long as it’s balanced and healthy…”

“Not saying anything wrong with that. Just, maybe you oughta look for something new. The spice of life, you know? Teruteru’s got that. Yeah, he’s pretty inappropriate but that’s learned behavior. Spend enough time around anyone you admire or aspire to be like, and you can change if you work towards it.”

_Wow. That was oddly inspirational._ “Sounds like you’re the one for the job, Akane.”

She rounds on him. “Huh?! Food in exchange for behavioral lessons? I’m not a dog, Hajime!”

“What?! That’s not what I said at all!”

“Nah, I get you,” she relaxes and rolls her shoulders. “I’ll check him out tomorrow and see what kind of a man he is.”

_That couldn’t sound any worse. At least her heart is in the right place. Er, maybe._

Akane returns to the food, and Hajime sets a course for Nagito, who he finds on the stage setting up his paints and easel. “You know, Monomi hasn’t announced the order of the performances in act two yet,” he says. “Lucky guess?”

Nagito laughs. “Now you’re starting to get it!”

Hajime holds the palette while Nagito squeezes blobs of paint onto it. “I’d say you hit gold at the convenience store.”

“Indeed, that place has everything. Honestly, I’m surprised Monomi hasn’t shut it down yet. Everything in and of itself is innocuous, but one should be cautious of creative minds.” Hajime has a feeling Nagito doesn’t mean ‘artistic creativity.’

He redirects the conversation. “This party is a lot more fun than I expected. Even Fuyuhiko came, although he was pretty against it when I saw him at the pool earlier.”

“Oh, I did hear something about an incident at the pool. Anything worth sharing?” Nagito takes a break from the paints and stares at Hajime like he already knows what went down. Damnit, who told him that Hajime jumped into the pool fully dressed?

“Just lost in my thoughts,” he tries to deflect. “I didn’t want to miss out on the fun. My clothes got in the way, but… they’re expendable, wouldn’t you say?”

Nagito squeezes the paint just a little too hard, splattering a larger than necessary blob on the palette, and Hajime knows he’s won this round. Dare he push his luck a little further?

“Careful, Nagito. You might get paint on your clothes. Well, I guess if that happens, you can come back to my place and borrow a shirt. Or, you know. Not.” Hajime winks, and Nagito visibly shudders.

“Hajime…”

“Places everyone, places! We’ll begin in just two minutes!”

Hajime’s hazy mind comes back down to earth, and he realizes just how close they’ve gotten. He’s got one hand practically in the paint palette and the other pressed flat against Nagito’s chest, neither action he consciously remembers doing. They’re both breathing fast and shallow, and belatedly, Hajime also realizes that the eyes of their classmates will soon be upon them and the stage after Monomi’s announcement.

Hajime takes a measured step back. “I hope that one day we can all hang out together in this room decorated with art made by our own hands.”

“Yeah,” Nagito says, voice low and eyes still glazed over. “I imagine you’ll all need a lot of hope from now on.”

_Not tonight_, Hajime reminds himself.

_Again that glint, that small hope fire, it burns, its twists, it tears_

_The fragile bond we’ve start to build; instead, it brings despair._

“Act two is as follows! Starting us off, will be Nagito Komaeda, the **Ultimate Painter **as reordered from act one, followed by Peko Pekoyama, performing as the **Ultimate Clown**.” A single snort of laughter comes from somewhere in the room. “Then, Mahiru Koizumi, Ibuki Mioda, Hiyoko Saionji, and Mikan Tsumiki will perform the **Ultimate Can-Can**!” The girls give a shout of excitement. Another slip of paper is sucked up into Monomi’s octopus paws. “Byakuya Togami will be—”

“—refusing to participate, of course,” Byakuya says. “I will not do whatever is written on that paper. I feel sorry for the person who thought they could trick me into doing something so below my station. But if you like, I shall continue to monitor everyone from the back of the room as the **Ultimate Bodyguard**.”

“More like the **Ultimate Hog **with the way you keep shoveling down food.”

“Don’t assign me your ridiculous titles. Just who do you think I am?

“The **Ultimate Nay-Sayer**?”

“The **Ultimate Party Poop**.”

“The **Ultimate Hot Dawg**!”

Monomi finally regains control of the fascinating name calling and reluctantly accepts Byakuya’s refusal. “Instead of Byakuya, we’ll have Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu, the **Ultimate Juggler**! And finally, Hajime Hinata will conclude the night as the **Ultimate Break Dancer**!”

“Hey, Peko, Fuyuhiko. If you two join forces, you’d be one half of a circus!” Ibuki says. The idea quickly catches, and soon the room erupts in chants of _do it, do it, _that Hajime happily encourages.

“S-Shut up!” Fuyuhiko flushes and taps his foot. “That alright with you?” he asks Peko.

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Tsk. Don’t gotta be all formal about it.”

Monomi swoons. “My, how lovely! Let’s move Peko’s performance to the end with Fuyuhiko, and start now with Nagito!”

Nagito sits on a little stool in front of the blank canvas and takes the palette and brush in his hands. “Now then, let’s begin. We’ll be painting the ocean. I apologize in advance if this is the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen! First, we’ll use Phthalo Blue. It’s a deep, majestic color.” He taps a large brush into the paint and narrates in a soft and soothing voice. “Then we push the brush across the canvas like this. Just like this. You don’t have to know anything about painting or perspective to do it. Even someone as useless as me can aspire to make something beautiful! There. Not bad. Now we’ll switch to a fan brush to form the waves using our Titanium White…”

He continues painting and speaking until the sunrise and ocean come together. Halfway through, Nagito claims he should have painted the sky first, saying what a failure the painting has become, but that even his little mistakes are forgivable if they can lead to something greater.

“For the final touch, let’s give it some life by adding a group of people enjoying the sunrise on our beach. I’ll start with myself!” He grabs the white with a smaller brush and shapes hair that looks like a cloud, and waves green paint vaguely into a human form. He switches to a dark brown to draw the next figure’s hair, but Monomi calls time before the brush touches the canvas. Nagito’s shoulders droop, and he gazes at the lone figure on the beach.

“How… unlucky.” Nagito stands and bows to the applause, then takes his supplies off the stage.

“That was so inspirational, Nagito, thank you!” Monomi says. “Up next is the Ultimate Can-Can!” Mahiru, Ibuki, Hiyoko, and Mikan woop and squeek and make their way towards the stage after a brief wardrobe change.

“Pst, Nagito.” Hajime weaves across the room towards Nagito, storing his supplies and the painting near a table and lamp by the far wall.

“What is it Hajime.”

Hajime gently takes the landscape out of Nagito’s shaking hands. “I’d be honored if I could join you on this beach. Can we finish it later?”

Nagito takes a deep breath. Smiles. “Hajime, that’s what I like about you so much.” He brushes his fingers across Hajime’s hands before taking the painting back. “You always see the best, even when everything is against you. Please remember this feeling moving forward,” he says clinically, then sets the painting on the ground, crosses his arms, and leans against the wall.

_Well then._

Hajime navigates back to the stage for the beginning of the next performance and tries not to think about it now.

“Why are they all wearing sweatpants?” Sonia is asking.

Kazuichi whispers, “Do you not know what this dance is like?”

“And _who _is involved,” Chiaki stresses.

On stage, Ibuki locks arms with Hiyoko on one side, and Mikan on the other, linked in turn to Mahiru. “We are Ultimate Can-Can, and we’re here to make noise and dance and stuff! One two three four—”

Thirty second pass during which all four of them belt out the song: _duhhh, duh dah duh dah dun dun, duh dah duh dah dun dun, duh dah duh dah dan, _you know the rest—at this rate, it’ll be his next perpetual music track—until Mikan loses her footing on a particularly high kick and threatens to pull them all down with her. Thirty more seconds pass as they careen left and right, during which both of Mikan’s feet leave the ground, Ibuki and Mahiru’s arms the only things holding her up. It’s a miracle they all stand up straight once again and continue kicking and twirling and singing for the rest of their allotted time.

By the end, they look a little worse for wear, but when Hiyoko offers a dizzy Mikan a helping hand down from the stage, Hajime knows it was worth it—but hell if he’s gonna say that to Hiyoko.

The newly merged act of Fuyuhikio and Peko are next. Fuyuhiko starts by barking orders for where Peko should stand and how she should move during the act, and she complies with unusual poise; Hajime didn’t expect Peko would take this kind of shit from anyone. Actually, he realizes, it’s not that Fuyuhiko is giving orders, it’s staging instructions to optimize both their performances. It’s almost considerate. _Weird_.

Fuyuhiko starts the act with three brightly colored balls in the air, while Peko deftly places a little red clown nose on her face. She opens her palms to show a small gold coin in the middle. Then she shuts them, waves her fists around, and when they open, the coin is gone. Close. Open. It’s in the other hand. She repeats a few more times, until it seems to have disappeared for good. She fakes an exasperated sigh and walks behind Fuyuhiko, who has since added a fourth ball, and slips her hand behind his ear, showing the audience the coin rolling between her fingers.

Fuyuhiko feigns irritation—you can tell it’s fake, because he’s grinning—and slowly paces around Peko while tossing the balls around his back, under his leg, and through her open arms as she plays with a balloon animal she inflated and twisted into shape. For the finale, Fuyuhiko tosses all the balls into the air at once directly above Peko’s head. In an act of extreme coordination, Peko immediately pops her balloon and catches each ball before they can hit her, and tosses them one by one back to Fuyuhiko. Everyone bursts into applause, and both Peko and Fuyuhiko beam.

“Beautiful! Beautiful!” Monomi cheers. Seriously, it’s insane that they barely know each other and have never practiced this before. “Thank you both! Now for our final performance of evening, it’s Hajime Hinata, the Ultimate Contemporary Dancer!”

_Here we go. _

With shaky legs, Hajime takes the stage and finds the beat in his chest like he’d done before. It’s not like he’s nervous with everyone watching—he already made a fool of himself with Nagito and accepted it, even loved it. No, Hajime isn’t nervous, it’s something else. Nagito’s always talking about seeing Hajime’s hope or whatever, but it’s as if he doesn’t want to watch anymore. Like he’s got something else he needs to be watching for. Waiting for. Nagito doesn’t make eye contact with Hajime; just smiles creepily into the empty air.

_No._

Hajime takes the notebook from his pocket. “I’m Hajime Hinata, the **Ultimate Poet**,” he says, and blurts out the first stanza in one hasty breath:

_“Awakened by a voice so calm, concern mixed with my name,_

_“Unknownst the storm, it starts to build; engulf my heart in flame._

He focuses on Nagito, who’s still looking into space, unseeing, unhearing. Hajime paces himself better, feeling the flow and enriching the words with the emotions he felt as he wrote each line over the course of the day.

_“A kindness done, from you to me; it’s fair, it’s free, it’s you._

_“And done without a hidden aim, your care for me, it’s true._

_“A glint that gleams within your eyes, a subtle question mark;_

_“Consumed by hope, this mark reveals, despair paints your soul dark._

_“My mind, it strays and pictures you, I love what you present:_

_“A fragile form, that cotton hair, what would you look like spent?_

His face flushes on that last one—the loud and in-tune whistle from the audience does not help one bit, _thanks_—and the only reason Hajime doesn’t up and jump right off the stage is because Nagito is finally looking at him. A heavy blush spreads across his face too, but that’s not the most important thing right now. It's more than his pride at stake. Hajime knew that a long time ago, long before he took the stage tonight, but he’d been unable to admit and accept that reality.

_“And when I play the fool I am, instead of tease, you smile,_

_“To build me up and lift me high; please stay like this a while?_

_“Exchanging glances side by side, perfect in every way,_

_“Until, that is, I see the truth; facade crumbling away._

Two beeps punctuate the silence between his words; a signal, before the lights abruptly cut out.

“Uwah! It’s a b-blackout!”

“Hey, I can’t see anything!”

Voices shout and stumble through the darkness. The metal plates on the windows make it impossible to see even the shadow of movement.

“I-It’s pitch black! My future is pitch black!”

“E-Everyone, calm down! We gotta stay calm in a situation like this!”

_That’s right, take a deep breath and calm down, Hajime. You have to keep going._

“Waaaah! Don’t step on my feet!”

_This is what you’re here to fight against. It’s this. It’s this moment right now. You knew something was going to happen, even though you didn’t know what it was going to be._

“What the hell!? What’s going on here!?”

_Say something!_

Hajime shouts:

_“Again that glint, that small hope fire, it burns, its twists, it tears_

_“The fragile bond we’ve start to build; instead, it brings despair._

Hajime quickly owns the silence and sound in the room. He can recite the rest of his poem in the dark just fine because it’s not written down yet. It comes to him now, as if the words had always been with him, waiting for the chance to be heard.

_“Despite the storm within my chest, I simply can’t forget_

_“The ways in which you’ve twisted truth; to us, you pose a threat._

_“With that bright fire, there lies a chance to turn you in, expose_

_“The lie beneath deceit; or else, ignore your darkened soul._

He could ignore it. It’s nothing, probably. Just Hajime’s own anxiety from being trapped on this island. No one knows what will happen next, but Nagito wouldn’t do anything extreme. He isn’t the type. He’s been too kind. His ideations and obsessions with hope… well, hope is just a word. It doesn’t mean anything.

Or, Hajime could call him out as a liar with an alternate agenda in disservice of the class unity. A traitor. Turn everyone against him, tie him up, and exile him for the greater good. All the times Nagito laughed and flirted with him were part of a facade. Nagito is certainly capable of deceiving Hajime and plotting something sinister if whatever swirls around in his eyes is any indicator.

Or—

_“Neither! I say. Not this, nor that. I’ll choose another way. _

_“A chance to talk, to share our truths—_

The lights snap back on and Hajime finds Nagito. No longer leaning casually against the wall or looking callously down his nose, he’s standing straight, mouth parted, eyes wide and wet and completely still. Hajime doesn’t know why. Is it the despair? This elusive hope? What Hajime’s going to say next?

Nagito tenses and quickly looks towards the nearby table as Hajime steps down from the stage and approaches. He takes Nagito’s hands and brings them to his lips as he whispers the final line of his poem, his confession:

“—S-Stay by my side, okay?”

Hajime knows they’re just words, and that words can’t change the world. Words can’t suddenly alter someone’s intentions if they are determined enough, but words can give pause, make you think. Words can bring two people closer together. Ignorance, the refusal to engage, unabashed righteousness; in isolation, the other side will never be understood. Curiosity, compassion, and the willingness to come together; those can lead to a common ground, if both sides are ready.

Nagito nods infinitesimally.

“I don’t get it. Why are they crying?”

“Shh! Something lovely is occuring, do not interrupt!”

Monomi says something about enjoying the rest of the night, while Byakuya scours the room, night vision goggles in hand, and the others talk and recreate each others’ performances. Hajime leads Nagito out in silence. Out, and back to Hajime’s cottage, where just a little while ago, he had suggested that Nagito come over and take off his clothes.

Hajime instructs Nagito to remove his shoes at the door, and they sit on the bed.

“Tell me what was supposed to happen tonight.”

Nagito does. From relying on his luck to be selected to clean the old building, to plugging in the irons, setting the timer on the air conditioner, and hiding the glowing knife under the table. All of this to be a stepping stone, an object, for the rest of them to use and trample over. Teruteru had seen and confronted Nagito when he had gone for the ice in the kitchen, and Nagito dared him to stop it. One day they might find out Teruteru’s side of the story, but not tonight. Tonight is about the two of them.

“Nagito. Would you have done it? Would you have gone for the knife if I hadn’t caught you off guard?”

He doesn’t answer.

Hajime is pissed. “Fine. Let me tell you how I see it. You wanted to be a stepping stone? Commit a murder or be an accomplice to one? Throw the rest of us under the bus and into chaos because you realized something we didn’t? Well, would you look at that; there was no murder tonight. Things turned out differently from what you had meticulously and cruelly planned.

“And here’s the real kicker. As a result of your _selfishness_, you actually did succeed in a way. You opened my eyes to a truth: we need to be stronger than you and Teruteru. Alone and distrustful, we can't survive this impossible situation Monokuma threw us into. Don’t listen to him. There’s no need to kill. None whatsoever. If we are honest with ourselves and with each other, we can end the killing before it begins.”

“Of course you’re right, Hajime!” Nagito throws his arms into the air, as if in celebration. “That’s why I did it, to show you all how we must move forward! Trust is so hard to come by, though. Murder is quick and easy, don’t you think? And you know, I think somewhere deep in my heart, I was probably hoping someone would stop me. Would you feel sorry for me if I told you that?” He giggles and smiles sweetly, and Hajime wants to smack him.

He opts for silence instead, and Nagito looks confused by the reaction, or lack thereof. Just as Hajime suspected, there is a nugget of truth to be found in Nagito’s words, however mad the rest of them might be.

Nagito lowers his arms and sighs. “I don’t know why you’re bothering with this kindness. I’m ruining you. You need to _overcome _this, Hajime, not accept it.” He sounds pained. Disappointed that he has to explain it. “Look. You’ve only been interested in me because of our physical attraction, and as a result, you wanted to understand me. Now that I’ve been caught, I can be understood. You don’t need to drag me back to your room and lecture me about it. Just move forward.”

“Now you’re being purposefully hurtful, Nagito. I won’t deny the attraction, but you know damn well that’s not everything. You’ve been a friend to me, and besides your unhealthy obsession with hope and death, you care about us. You want to see us succeed, but you’re a part of us too. Moving forward together is the only way we can help each other.”

“_Everything_ I do is to help you, it’s not my fault you don’t understand! I’ve tried to explain it, but for some reason, you don’t want to hear it. But now, Hajime, you’ve seen the truth. I’ll ask you the same thing I asked Teruteru: what will you do? If you don’t restrain me, I’ll only try harder next time. I won’t stop. I’ll reveal your hope shining brightly at the end of this.”

“_I _won’t stop either!” Hajime grabs Nagito’s jacket and struggles not to slap him or to kiss him, either method might be effective in getting Nagito to listen, but this situation calls for truthful words delivered in rapid succession. “You wanted to see my hope? Here it is! No one is perfect. I don’t want perfect. I want you, and your humor and the compassion I know is there because I’ve seen it. I want to talk to you because I think it will help me understand the danger we face if we remain fragmented on this island. Right now. I am unbelievably pissed off at you, but my current emotional state doesn’t dictate my underlying feelings and my commonsense.

“Nagito, I’ve been naive thinking we could live in peace if we never talked about the darkness lurking inside all of us. If we ignore it and push it down, we will falsely believe that none of us would ever do such a thing. You weren’t naive. You saw the potential in Teruteru when you dared him to kill you, and in yourself when you devised your murder plot. I need your perspective on what drives us to kill and to survive. And frankly, you could use my perspective, too.”

“That’s what I love about you, Hajime. Your blind belief in hope.”

“It’s not blind, but it might get us killed if I don’t learn to do better.”

Words dry up for the night. Tomorrow will bring more. More discussion between the two of them and among the group as a whole. For now, they get ready for bed. Nagito returns to his cottage to retrieve his pillow and a change of clothes, while Hajime hangs his poem on the wall, a reminder of the fate that almost befell them tonight, and of their determination to change course.

When Nagito comes back, they lay in bed and Nagito rolls onto the edge of Hajime’s pillow, studying him, as if trying to figure out how genuine Hajime is, and how much of himself Nagito can reveal without giving up everything that makes him who he is. Hajime understands. It’s going to be an effort for both of them to change, to be more open, more trusting, and even more suspicious and conscientious of human nature and the temptations they fall to so easily.

_This is a good start, though_, Hajime thinks as they draw close and meet halfway, the promise of hope whispered and shared and passed between their lips.


	3. Hajime's Poem

_ Awakened by a voice so calm, concern mixed with my name, _

_ Unknownst the storm, it starts to build; engulf my heart in flame. _

_ A kindness done, from you to me; it’s fair, it’s free, it’s you. _

_ And done without a hidden aim, your care for me, it’s true. _

_ A glint that gleams within your eyes, a subtle question mark; _

_ Consumed by hope, this mark reveals, despair paints your soul dark. _

_ My mind, it strays and pictures you, I love what you present: _

_ A fragile form, that cotton hair, what would you look like spent? _

_ And when I play the fool I am, instead of tease, you smile _

_ To build me up and lift me high; please stay like this a while? _

_ Exchanging glances side by side, perfect in every way, _

_ Until, that is, I see the truth; facade crumbling away. _

_ Again that glint, that small hope fire, it burns, its twists, it tears _

_ The fragile bond we’ve start to build; instead, it brings despair. _

_ Despite the storm within my chest, I simply can’t forget _

_ The ways in which you’ve twisted truth; to us, you pose a threat. _

_ With that bright fire, there lies a chance to turn you in, expose _

_ The lie beneath deceit; or else, ignore your darkened soul. _

_ Neither! I say. Not this, nor that. I’ll choose another way. _

_ A chance to talk, to share our truths. Stay by my side, okay? _


End file.
